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But the thing was, I could stay and endure when Simon’s hands were landing on me. It bought me more time to collect more money, to make the break to freedom easier on the kids.
I could not stay if Simon was putting his hands on my kids. Pointblank, period.
We had to go.
And we had to go as soon as possible.
I wouldn’t let Isaac live in a house where he knew he could be hit for any small, even imaginary, infraction.
“Oh, buddy,” I said, rubbing his cheek with my thumb.
His lower lip quivered.
But almost at that exact second, the baby started to cry.
And all three of us jumped when Simon’s bedroom door flew open so hard it knocked off the wall.
“Shut that fucking thing up. I’ve got a goddamned migraine!”
Then the door slammed closed again.
“You guys stay right here, okay?” I said, getting a firm nod from Isaac as I rushed out to the baby, scooping her up, then attempting to nurse, even though the attempt in the hospital hadn’t been successful.
Frustrated, I made a bottle, fed her, and rocked her back to sleep, strapped into her pumpkin seat. Because I was going to grab it, and we were going to run.
But first, I had to steel myself for this next part.
Pretending to give a single fuck about Simon while I crept around in my fucking post-delivery diaper, every part of me hurting and tired, with rage surging through my bloodstream.
But I had to be smart.
I needed time.
So I had to play the part of the worried wife.
I crept through our bedroom, going into the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and finding an old bottle of pills.
They were powerful sedatives his doctor had given him for insomnia, but had been a little too strong, making him pass out for ten hours at a time, and wake up disoriented and dizzy.
And that was just one pill.
So I shook out two, got a glass of water, and a cold compress, then went to the side of the bed, whispering that he needed to take this “aspirin” for his head. Which he did. Without question. I placed the washcloth on his forehead, and was about to walk out of the room, mission accomplished, when the bastard called out, “Keep those fucking kids quiet today.”
Oh, he didn’t have to worry about that.
He’d know nothing but quiet for the rest of his goddamn life.
From there, I crept back into Isaac’s room, untangling him from his sister, and telling him that he needed to grab his favorite toys and put them in his backpack, then he had to get his shoes on, and help his sister get her toys and her shoes.
While I ran around last minute, shoving everything I could into bags. Blankets, pillows that I shoved in the basket under the stroller, more food, and, finally, every single bit of cash I found around the house and in Simon’s wallet.
Two grand.
Plus everything I’d siphoned and the items I’d stolen.
Not a lot.
But I would make it work.
“Okay,” I said to Isaac, ushering him toward the door after checking to make sure Simon was out cold. “You hold onto your sister’s hand, and you don’t let go, okay?” I asked, checking the knots I’d wrapped around the carseats that I had strapped to the stroller.
He gave me a serious nod, and we were out the door.
Me pushing the cart full of carseats and bags and pillows with a tied rolling suitcase chugging along with it, Rodney’s leash around my wrist, and Clara’s heavy pumpkin seat digging into my arm every step of the way.
But off we went.
Down the road.
I tossed my cell phone into the back of a pick-up truck as we passed, hoping that when Simon woke up and tracked it, that it would lead him on a wild goose chase while we got away.
First order of business was the car. I’d done lots of research and knew of a lot close by that was known for having the best prices around.
The owner was an older man with a round belly and an warm face who seemed to assess the situation quickly, taking pity on us, and slicing the rate on the car I’d been looking at by half.
It was ancient with over two-hundred-thousand miles on it.
But it ran.
And it would get us off the side of the street where we could be easily spotted.
The owner took my cash, seeming almost regretful to do so, then helped me strap in the seats and load up the trunk and passenger seat floor since Rodney had to claim the actual seat.
“You get far and fast, you hear?” he asked, looking at Isaac, then at me.
“That’s the plan. Thank you for everything.”
And we were off.
Free.
But, you know, not doing great.
Two kids, a dog, and a newborn in a tiny car with a postpartum mom… yeah, it was rough.
